


The Men in Sherlock's Life

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cock Sucking, Fingering, Fucking, M/M, arse fucking, beatings, men kissing, tonguing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Sherlock marries Greg. Mycroft is behind the whole thing. John is married to Mary.How does this web begin to untangle?





	1. Greg and Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit sex begins in chapter three

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes have an interesting relationship. Greg Lestrade found Sherlock years ago in a doss house. Strung out on drugs, nearly dead. With quick thinking Greg had Sherlock transferred to a hospital where he met Sherlock's older brother Mycroft. Mycroft had every means at his disposal to acquire the best possible care for his brother. It seemed to Greg that Mycroft could move mountains if needed.

* * *

Greg continued to be Sherlock's only friend. And working with Greg on murder cases kept Sherlock occupied and away from the drugs.  
In this way, the men remained friends for years.

* * *

Greg was thrilled when John Watson came into Sherlock's life. He thought that John was a perfect companion for him and eventually a great love. But both John and Sherlock did not acknowledge that part of their relationship.

* * *

And then to make it worse, John dates Mary Morstan and marries her, much to the chagrin of all. Now Sherlock is alone, and both Mycroft and Greg feel that will be the undoing of Sherlock, and he will revert to drugs again. So begins the plan for Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

One evening, Mycroft asks Greg to join him for dinner. And in the Mycroft style, Greg gets picked up in a limo. Mycroft is in the car and greets Greg very formally. Nothing is said until they are dropped off at a very posh restaurant.

          "Honestly my friend, I'm not dressed for this place."

          "Not to worry, we have a private room." 

Leave it to Mycroft. A private room. And the price of the food could set me back a few days salary.

* * *

After ordering, and sipping some of the best wine I have ever tasted Mycroft sits back, crosses his very costly trouser leg. 

          " Sherlock needs a companion. Someone he can relate to, and for years you've always been there. He looks up to you. He also knows that you won't put up with any of his mischiefs."

          "Okay got that so far!"

          "John is slowly drifting away from Sherlock. The two bumbling idiots refused to acknowledge their love, so that ends that. Now that John is married Mary isn't going to allow John to traipse all over London at all hours and also John has a booming medical practice to take into consideration."

* * *

And here Mycroft looks over at me, expecting me to deduce what he is asking. When I don't, he sighs, and continues,"You are newly divorced and living alone, Sherlock is living alone."

I sit up straight in my chair, and with astonishment get the picture.

          "Oh No, you want me to move in with that....sociopath?"

          "Greg, it would be most appreciated. You could watch over him. He would listen to you, and we have the landlady Mrs. Hudson at 221B to assist you. Of course, I will make sure you want for nothing."

I lean back in my chair and take another swig of the wine.

* * *

Mycroft looks at his phone. 

          "I have no time left to discuss this. You and I would also meet occasionally to make sure my little brother is doing well."

          "And what does Sherlock have to say in this?"

          " He will agree, he has no choice in the matter. I still hold the purse strings."

          " Give me time to work on this."

          "No, you have until tomorrow afternoon. I will then have my men pick up all your belongings and transfer them."

          "Wow, you are that sure I will say yes?"

Mycroft sends a small smile my way as he gets up.

          "Some things are just understood. See you soon Greg."

* * *

And sure enough, late in the afternoon Mycroft's minions walk into my flat and start packing everything. I leave the furniture there since 221B is fully furnished. Time to drive over there and watch the younger Holmes boy throw a fit.  


          "What does he think he is doing? Why do I need a watchdog over me? And you of all people?"

He's pacing up and down the sitting room, dragging his hands through his curly black hair.

          "Oh, and I'm that bad huh?"

          "No, I guess not." He stops pacing the room and sits on the sofa, hands steepled in the familiar way he does when thinking. Sherlock is a tall, very slim, pale young man. His best features are his cheekbones which are sharp and sunken. Hair that regularly curls around his face and a bow mouth that belongs to a woman. Those eyes, sometimes hazel, sometimes green.

* * *

I notice that the chair that John once sat in is gone and a new, green one is there.

          "Do you want to go out for dinner or is there eats in this place? Do I even look in the fridge? What body parts will I find there?"

          "Not hungry."

          "Sherlock, we will eat something. Out or in?"

          "Out," and he stands to get his coat and scarf.  
/p> I will have to remember to stock the fridge and pantry.

* * *

Our lives settle into a routine. Sherlock occasionally goes out on calls with me. I still work at the desk at the police station, sometimes until late in the night. I do find that Sherlock relies on me lots of the time for the small things. Like, eating and sleeping.

* * *

Mycroft and I meet about twice a month to at first discuss anything Sherlock, and then it becomes more social. I find I like the man. Even with that tough exterior, there is something fun about him. Of course, it doesn't hurt that we are dining in some of the finest restaurants in London.

* * *

But lately the atmosphere becomes thick with unspoken words. Mycroft becomes an enigma to me.

Sometimes his hand lingers a bit long on mine, his sly flirtatious manner, his eyes staring at me, seemingly asking a question. What is he thinking?

Both Holmes boys, so intriguing, so different and yet so alike. And yet, I find myself drawn to Mycroft, drawn to his power, his aloofness, his sexiness.

Yes, Mycroft is very suggestive in the slight upturn of his mouth. The lift of his hand. Most movements that men would not notice, but I do, at least now. A minor action sends a tingling in my body. I find myself reacting, flirting also.

* * *

Eight months after I've moved in with Sherlock we are at Barts Hospital in the morgue, and John walks in the room. Both men stiffen up. The tension in the air. Molly and I look at one another and shrugging my shoulder I motion to her. 

          Let's find out more about this corpse. The files are in the office. Let's go over there."

She nods and follows. The office is across from the morgue so I figure if there are raised voices we can hear it and stop it. But it is quiet. Too quiet. I listen to the door open and close, and then our door opens, and Sherlock walks in. He is frazzled. 

          "Let's get out of here, Greg."

I say goodbye to Molly, and outside we find a cab and head directly to the flat.

* * *

Sherlock climbs the steps two at a time, throws his coat and scarf on the floor. 

          "Since I can't have any drugs, get me some strong drink, Greg. I want to get drunk, terribly drunk."

I take out the whiskey that Mycroft gave us. It is some damn good stuff. We sit and drink. Not talking much, just drink. Sherlock pulls his chair closer to me, and realize we are both a bit soused. 

          "Let's stop drinking. I think we've had enough," my voice slurring.

          "good idea," he just about gets out those words. He gets off the chair onto his knees and clasps a hand around my neck, and he tentatively kisses me. At first, I pull back, but, the allure of Sherlock is too much, and a fistful of his curly hair in my hand pulls him closer, having me meet his lips. He slips his tongue out and prods my mouth open, letting his tongue find mine. And slowly, we get up, find ourselves shedding clothes as we head towards his bedroom.

* * *

By the late evening, we lie there fully sated, not saying anything. Sex with Sherlock is unique. I had been with men before, but this was very intensive. I could tell he was analyzing every move. Finding what I liked he used it to bring me to greater heights.

* * *

And it didn't stop that night only. I found myself fully embracing Sherlock and looking forward to having sex with this man.

* * *

I knew Mycroft would figure it out. He would sense it. He called me to his house one evening. After being settled with drinks, canapes, and cookies, we are sitting in opposite chairs.

          "Mycroft, I know what you are going to say."

He puts his hand up to stop me further.

          "Let me talk first Greg. I know what has happened. Sherlock has told me."  
/p. My eyebrows lift off my head!

          "Greg, he has told me he wants you to stay with him permanently. You bring a stability to his life he has never known. He even mentioned John. And that you were better for him than John ever was."

          "Well, fuck that!"

          "Now, what do you want to do about this situation?"

          "What's there to do?"

Mycroft looks down over his glass with 'that look.'          "Oh no! Are you suggesting!! No!!!" Oh wait, did Sherlock want you to feel me out on this?"  
/p>  
And the man nods yes.

* * *

Over the next drink, we sit quietly. I reflect on my life and realize that it's become very good with the Holmes boys around.

          "What I do next is none of your business, Mycroft. But thanks for the drink and the heads up."

The limo drops me off at the flat, and I walk around the streets for awhile, thinking.

* * *

How to approach this? Okay, ideas begin to swirl in my head. The best thing to do is to marry Sherlock. 

This way he will be tied to me, and I can engage with him better. And it would keep my thoughts of Mycroft out of my head.

I have no idea of Sherlock's ring size but...within a day of meeting up with Mycroft, I get a text.

          _Ring size is seven._

Shit, how does that man do that?

* * *

I buy a plain gold ring and deciding not to have dinner out that evening I order Thai food in.

I get to the door at 221B, up the stairs and into the flat to find Sherlock looking his very best in his black pinstripe suit and the maroon shirt. Sigh! He knows something is up.

He kisses me hello.

          " Wine's been poured out, and the food is on the table all set."

          "Before we eat Sherlock I have something to ask you."

          "And I you, Greg."  
/p. 

          "Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?" 

I pull out the ring and then Sherlock grins, "Greg Lestrade, will you marry me?"

And out comes the same ring. All we can do is laugh. Because we both asked Mycroft the same question and the devil himself told us the answer.  
There's a hug that follows, and we sit and have dinner.

* * *

We plan a small wedding by a Justice in five weeks. And a few people over the flat later in the day.  


          "I have something to ask you, Greg." Would you mind if Mycroft is our best man?"  
Startled by the request, I see no problem with it.

          "Ok, Sherlock, do you want to invite Mary and John?"

Sherlock thinks about it a moment and looks down at the floor.

          "No need, that part of me is done. I haven't heard from him in months and let's leave it at that."

* * *

During this time I'm still meeting with Mycroft. Because he is constantly in conferences over government matters we only manage a few times. 

Each time he picks me up in the limo, and we head to a fancy restaurant. There are times when I feel awkward. He likes to leave a hand on mine a bit longer than is considered normal, or his knee touches mine. Sometimes he looks at me with fire in his eyes. At these moments I am shaken. I shiver slightly.

At home, I will sometimes lie in bed and think what it would be like to take this man apart. To bring him to a climax.

* * *

Our wedding is on a cloudy London day, and everyone at the party is in good spirits. Sherlock manages not to offend anyone.

But I can't help but notice Mycroft most of the time, standing alone. Looking out the window, he looks depressed.

Again that something, that hunch that there is a longing, a desire. Could it possibly be for me?

I imagine Sherlock can pick up on it but don't want to spoil the event by asking him. I stay away from Mycroft, not wanting to destroy my time at the party and afraid to find out what is bugging Mycroft.

* * *

And so we settle into married life at 221B.


	2. A Tangle of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is falling for Greg. What do they both do? Where does that leave Sherlock?

I cannot understand what has happened to me. At the wedding of Greg and Sherlock, I felt a touch of sadness, hunger in me, looking at Greg Lestrade with something more than affection. But, this is foolishness. Sherlock is married to Greg now. I know it is the best thing for Sherlock. And I can't interfere anymore.

* * *

I'm so busy with work that I lose track of time. I've been traveling all over Europe, talking with ambassadors, ministers of affairs and relishing in the company of wealthy and powerful men.

* * *

One evening, while back in London, I consider calling Greg. It's been a very long time since we got together for drinks. I wonder if he still wants to.

Okay, Mycroft, I think to myself. No ulterior motives. Your attraction to Greg needs to be restrained and put out of mind.

* * *

          "Greg, how are you? It's quite awhile since we've been together."

          "Fine, Mycroft. Sherlock is keeping me busy and so is work. Would you like to meet me as we used to do, have a drink someplace?"

          "Thats why the call Greg." 

          "Tuesday at seven okay with you?"

          "Fine, will have the car pick you up at work?"

          "Good.

* * *

Tuesday rolls around, and I've cleared all my appointments with Anthea, my assistant. Knows I'm out and not to disturb unless for an emergency.  
Greg gets in the car at exactly seven.

          "You're never late Mycroft, are you?"  


          "Rude, that's what it is. Let's go to my club. I have a great whiskey I want you to taste."

At the Diogenes, I head to my office and Greg joins me.

* * *

My office is dark red and brown colors with two large filled bookshelves. My desk has the usual accouterments that you expect, but it is pretty clean of papers.

* * *

I keep a well-stocked bar, and there's a small table with two chairs that set up for serving anything from snacks to a large meal. Greg has been here before, but most of the time it's to talk about Sherlock.

* * *

I take off my suit jacket, and Greg takes his usual seat by the fireplace. Suddenly I'm feeling very uncomfortable. What to talk about other than Sherlock?

I pour the whiskey into two glasses and hand one to Greg. His hand brushes my fingers slightly, and I feel a tingle.

          "Hmm, that is one hell of a drink," as he sips it."What is it?"

          "Talisker Skye. I like the peppery notes and spicy taste to it."

          "Better than the stuff I get believe me! How is work, or maybe I shouldn't talk about it? Or let's say you can't talk about it. Right?"

          "Yes, but I can tell you I've traveled around these last few months. I found I love some of the countrysides in Austria."

* * *

The rest of the evening goes well, and we find many topics on which we like. Books and old movies being some of them.  
It's quite late, and Greg and I get ready to leave the club. 

          "Greg, I'd like to continue to meet, but you know my schedule takes me away a lot. Can I text or call you for next time?"

          "Yeah, I would like that immensely."  
We get into the limo, and I sit as far away as I can. Frightened of my emotions.

* * *

          "It's been a good evening, Mycroft. You are such easy company."  


          "The same here, Greg."

No, I am determined not to see Greg again. Normally I don't have romantic feelings, and Greg is bringing out a passion I am unwilling to explore. He's, after all, married to my brother.

* * *

Sherlock and I have been together now for almost a year, and he has been particularly difficult lately.

He's begun wearing nicotine patches instead of smoking. Whenever I ask what's wrong, I get no answer. He has a blog now and has gotten cases to work on his own. I don't feel we have a connection anymore.  
And our sex life has diminished a lot.

* * *

I decide to call Mycroft to see if he knows, if Sherlock has talked to him. I haven't heard from him in weeks. I know he was in Europe for quite awhile but is now home.

          Hello, Greg. 

          "Mycroft, can we meet. I want to discuss Sherlock with you.

          "Tomorrow afternoon would be good if you can get away from work. two pm?"

          "I'll meet you at the Diogenes Club. No need to pick me up."

* * *

I think I try on at least three shirts before deciding on the light blue one and jeans. What the hell is the matter with me? What do I expect Mycroft to do? 

* * *

I take a cab to the club, walk in, and they show me to Mycroft's office and open the door for me.

* * *

My heart races as I see the man standing there with a decanter in hand. He is wearing his usual three-piece suit. This one is a grey pinstriped.

A light blue shirt and striped blue and green tie finish the look.

* * *

The sofa is where I sit and signal that whatever is in the decanter is fine with me. Pouring the drinks, he sits in one of the chairs and takes a sip of his drink.

          "Hmm, that is good again Mycroft. You seem to enjoy good whiskey. Although with the money you make you can enjoy anything you want."

I incline my head and say,"Sorry about that, tough day today. Sometimes it appears that I don't make enough money to warrant the aggravation that comes with being Detective Inspector of police."

Mycroft says nothing, and again I'm getting the impression that he wants something from me. And it's not just friendship.

* * *

My stomach turns with a warmth trickling all over me as I peer at Mycroft.  
I lean forward determined to get this over with and get out of here.

          "Sherlock has been acting strangely. I know he's not on drugs and I've even given him patches. Do you know what's happening?"

Mycroft looks down at his glass, and his voice is solemn.

          "John and Mary are having marital problems, and Sherlock knows it."

          "Shit, that's not all right."

          "No Greg, and the worst of it is I'm wondering if Sherlock is going to interfere."

          "You want me to talk to Sherlock?"

          "No, I think you will find out more from John. I know you two used to go pubbing together, is that the correct terminology?"

          "Yes, let me see what I can do."Mycroft shifts in his chair, rather uncomfortably it seems.

          "Since it's mid-afternoon how about an early dinner together?"

          "I'll take you up on that as long as it's one of those fancy places you like."

* * *

In the car Mycroft has his thigh pressed up against me. I'm not sure I want to pull away.  
We pull up at a hotel that has a beautiful restaurant on the ground floor. One with chandeliers and waiters with white gloves.

          "Order the steak, Greg. They have the finest."There are no prices on the menu. I try not to gawk. Mycroft orders wine, and when brought to us he goes through the ritual of tasting, smelling and swirling. And nods his okay, for which the waiter pours the wine into our glasses. I wouldn't know what I was swirling.

During the meal, we talk about our jobs and the stresses each of us has. His foot seems always to find mine. But his face remains impassive.

* * *

I have had sex with men before, but if Mycroft is suggesting, then he would be one of the strangest ever. 

He is so calm and frosty. His dress is impeccable. Always the three-piece suits. He excites me. But I am afraid to move on him. I also have to remind myself that I am a married man and to his brother no less. The meal goes well, and he drops me off at my flat.

* * *

I decide to text John, using a good excuse to see him again.

          _John, you still have the small suitcase that I lent you. Can you give it back to me? We can meet for drinks at the Boar?_

          _Fine, next Tuesday nite would be great at nine_

* * *

John is sitting at a table with two full beer glasses already set out.

* * *

He's looking tired and down. Let's see if he brings up what's bothering him.

* * *

          "I left the case in the car. Figure you can pick it up on the way out."

          "How're things going? I hear great things about the clinic. Tell me what's happening there?"

And that's when he lights up and chatters away about the work they are doing.

* * *

          "How's Mary? Is she still helping out part-time for you?"

And john's face falls. The shine goes out of his eyes.

          "Greg, I think our marriage is about over. She isn't home much, and when I question her, she only gets upset. She says she's working hard at the other doctor's office. Twice I've checked, and she wasn't there. She's cheating on me."

          "Oh no,"putting a sympathetic tone in my voice and place a hand over his.

          "I know the feeling because my ex-wife did the same thing.          "What's your move? Are you going to continue?"

          "I have no choice. I'm going to a lawyer tomorrow and start divorce proceedings."

* * *

By now we've had a few glasses, and my senses are a bit rocky.

          "Does Sherlock know about this?"

John looks up with a curious stare.

          "Why would he know? Do you see anything in his manner to suggest he might have deduced it?"          "He's been acting strange and I thought for awhile he was back on drugs. He's been playing sad music on the violin."          "Oh no, Greg, are you two doing okay?"

My mouth begins to talk before my head thinks.

          "To be honest, John, no. And I can't place my finger on anything. And when I ask he shrugs and walks away."

* * *

But What I don't tell John is that Sherlock has gotten into rages in the past few days. He keeps accusing me of cheating on him with his brother.

John takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, speaking into his beer glass, "We have messed up our lives, don't you think?"

          "What? Do you mean you think I married wrong also?"

Staring straight into my eyes he doesn't say a word, but his gaze says it all. Then he opens his mouth, shuts it and opens it again.

          " Anyone with eyes has noticed that Mycroft has it for you."

          "Really?"

I'm shocked that people have been conscious of what I haven't. Or at least up until now.

          "Okay, let's shot from the hip, John. You can't tell me that you haven't, from day one when you met at the lab at Barts, been gawking at Sherlock and him at you? So, why the hell did you marry that woman?"

          "Angry at Sherlock, refusal to acknowledge to myself that I could love a man. Ah, shit, I fucked up okay?"

I put my hand on John's shoulder and squeeze in sympathy.  
We leave, and it's a good thing both of us have taken cabs and not our cars. And, I forget to take the suitcase.

* * *

I call Mycroft the next day to let him know our conversation. But not about what John said about him.

* * *

          " I have next Friday night free if you want to come to my Chatham House residence and maybe we can watch a movie. I can cook if you wish."

          "How about some Thai takeaway. Let's keep it informal."

          "Good, I'll have the car pick you up."

Anticipation follows me through the week.

* * *

To say I'm nervous is an understatement. Again I go through my clothes and finally pick out a subdued yellow and green plaid shirt and black jeans.

* * *

The car is again on time, and it pulls up to an elegant townhouse on a swanky street. I knock, and a man, the butler, opens the door.

          "Greg Lestrade to see Mycroft Holmes."

Without a word but a sweep of his hand, he proceeds to take me up the wide stairs to a hallway with, it seems, many doors. We go to the second door on the right, and opening it,"Mister Lestrade, sir."

          "Thanks. Come in, Greg." 

* * *

I walk into a very large, what looks like a library and an office. The walls are shelf covered with books on them, two dark brown fabric covered chairs, a large light tan sofa, and a mahogany desk with a swivel chair. A coffee table, and a sideboard with liquor decanters on it. And still, plenty of room to dance if you wanted. Off on the right is an open door where I see a king size bed. It's all very posh.

* * *

          "Is this where you entertain?" overwhelmed at the bigness of it.

* * *

          "Only certain guests. There is a formal room downstairs."

* * *

          "Mycroft, I thought we were going casual?" chortling, looking him up and down in a dark brown three-piece suit and a light brown shirt with a green tie.

          "Didn't have time to change. Just came from a big conference."

* * *

A knock on the door and the same man comes in wheeling a cart with our takeaway, utensils and all, and he leaves.

          "Want to eat as we watch a movie?"

* * *

He goes over to a wall and presses a button, and it swings around to reveal one monstrous telly and drawers underneath.  
My mouth gapes.

          " I tore down the wall between the two rooms and made the room on the other side smaller to do this. Like it?"

          "Shit, Mycroft, you know I do. When does poor little me get to see something like this in person."

He chuckles, "Go look for a movie you want to watch, and I'll get the plates set up. Oh, I have another whiskey for you to try. It's called Ledaig."

Man, a fellow can get spoiled, I think.

* * *

          "Where did you get these movies? Some of them are very old, and I see you have black and white ones."

          "Anthea's brother collects, and she gave me some recently because she wants me to relax. Thinking that watching a movie will loosen me up."

          "She could be right. How about an old sci-fi I see here called Forbidden Planet. It has a robot in it that became very famous and was in a tv series. Robby the Robot"

          "Good enough for me. I haven't watched that yet."

* * *

I sit on the sofa and Mycroft sits next to me. Taking my shoes off to get more comfortable, Mycroft loosens his tie, and his shoes come off also.

* * *

While the movie is running, we eat, occasionally stopping the movie to comment on it.

* * *

The movie ends, we're finished with our food.

* * *

Mycroft pushes away the coffee table and leans back against the arm of the sofa. Seemingly very content.

* * *

          "Thanks for the evening. I enjoyed it."

          "Can we do this more often?"

          "Mycroft, I'm married to your brother."

          "Are you even remotely suggesting that we are doing something wrong?"

Shit! What to say!

* * *

          "Oh, no Mycroft, I would never think you would step over the boundary. Not the staid and proper Mycroft."

I'm very aware that the sarcasm is reeking from me.

Now Mycroft gets angry. I see it in his eyes even if his body does not show it.

          "Do you think for one moment, Mister Lestrade, that I would degrade myself to your level?"

I'm up like a shot, and he stands just as quickly. My arm goes out for a punch, he grabs my wrist to stop me.

* * *

We're both breathing rather heavy at this point and glaring at each other.

          "I think, Mister Lestrade, it's time for you to leave."

          "Damn straight." 

And I walk out of the room, and downstairs to let the car take me home.

* * *

What did I just do?

Mycroft Holmes, what is the matter with you? It has been years since anyone has affected you like this. You lost control, wholly and entirely. I sit on the sofa wondering.

Finally, I fall asleep sitting where I am to wake up in the middle of the night, determined to make it up to Greg.

He is not mine. He is my brothers, and I was the one to bring it about, and can't change it.

* * *

Once home, I realize that I must stay away from Mycroft. Or at least only meet out in the open.

* * *

          'Shit, Greg, you have walked into a compromising situation,.' thinking out loud. But, I can avoid any complications by staying away from the older Holmes brother. If anything comes up with Sherlock, I can call or text.

* * *

For months I watch the unfolding of everything. John gets the divorce from Mary, and she leaves town. John moves back into 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson kept the rooms empty, why I can't understand. Sherlock begins to spend more and more time at Baker Street and more often than not arguing with me over insanely stupid illogical reasons.

* * *

I'm working late hours just to keep away from our flat. Just to avoid Sherlock.

* * *

          "Mister Holmes, your brother is here to see you," Anthea begins, opening the door to my office. 

And without waiting, Sherlock walks into the room and begins to rant about Greg and me.

          "Sherlock, there is nothing between us. Why are you doing this?"

          "Because, Mycroft, I know. I see."

          "You can't have seen anything these last months. We haven't been together, or even texted one another."

          "Oh, no, you two are avoiding each other. Let's face it Mycroft; you want Greg."

* * *

Sighing deeply, and with great patience, "Sherlock, why don't you get a divorce and go to John? We all know that's what you want, and even John wants to be with you. You're both too afraid to say so."

* * *

Sherlock storms out of the house. My patience has worn out. I am tired of letting everything dictate my personal life. In my work I run things, I pull the strings.

* * *

          'Mycroft, it's time you get what you want' I murmur to myself.

* * *

I send a text.

          _Greg, movie night has been put off for too long._

After a few hours, I receive a text back.

          _I agree. when_

          _tomorrow night too soon?_

          _no, Sherlock is never here now, always with John. Talk to you tomorrow on this matter_

* * *

That afternoon I have a text from Greg.

          _Running late, need to pick up some things at the flat. And want dinner. Can you come to flat at seven_

          _will do._

* * *

The car lets me off at Gregs and Sherlocks, and before I can knock, Greg opens the door with a flourish.

          "Come in a minute; I can't find the files I left here yesterday. Sherlock moved things to continue an experiment."

I sit down to wait. The flat is just as messy as 221B used to be when Sherlock and John lived together. That seems an eternity ago.

* * *

All of a sudden the door slams open and there's Sherlock, his coat flaring out as he storms into the flat.

          "I knew it, you two. Mycroft, get out, right now."

I'm trying to protest as Sherlock launches at Greg. He tackles him and punches him in his stomach and Greg doubles over.

I try to get between them as Sherlock hits Greg in the jaw, "Stop this, Sherlock."

John walks in, sees what's happening and jumps Sherlock, also yelling for him to stop. Finally, everyone backs away. All of us taking deep breaths.

* * *

          "Now," John says, "fuck all of you. We're going to sort this out right now. Sherlock, you've been acting like an asshole to me and your husband."

And he emphasizes the word husband.

* * *

          "No, he's not anymore. He only married me because my brother wanted him to watch over me. I'm a big boy now, Mycroft and don't need a watchdog."

* * *

Looking at me directly," I want out of the farce of the marriage, Greg. Mycroft, do your job and get me out quickly."

          "I thought you could handle everything by yourself," and instantly regret the words as Sherlock launches at me. Greg immediately steps between us.

* * *

          "Oh sure, get your lover to protect you, my brother!" he spits out.

          "Damn, Sherlock, shut your fucking mouth!"

Greg blows out, looks at Sherlock, anger, hurt written on him.

          "Let's get this over with as soon as possible. And if Mycroft can work his magic then I am willing, eh Mycroft?"

I shake my head yes. Disgusted with this mess.

I take my leave and let John, Sherlock, and Greg do whatever they need to do now. I'll see what can be done about settling a quick divorce for Greg and Sherlock.

* * *

Greg texts me the next day.

          _Sorry for that mess yesterday, John managed to get Sherlock out of the flat for awhile. I agree with Sherlock. Time to move on._

          _Already in the works._

          _Don't care what anyone thinks. Can we meet soon, please Mycroft._

          _Do you think that's wise?_

          _Just said I don't care._

          _Give me a few days, Greg, please._

          _Ok, text me._

* * *


	3. Match-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's John and Sherlock, or is it. Greg and Mycroft.

I'm Mycroft Holmes, the stiff upper lip, as the British call it. I am always in control whether working with the Queen or dancing around affairs of state with the self-important politicians.

* * *

Money is never a problem. I own two townhouses in London, an estate in the country, servants in each, a limousine, etc.

* * *

In other words, people jump to my command.

* * *

So, why in hell am I so uncertain about Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. I know, socially, he is beneath me. He is older than me that is for sure.

If I wanted a one night stand, I could easily go to one of the men's clubs and find a companion. Pick and choose who I want.

* * *

But, and I say this with certainty, I could have that with Greg. I know he is bisexual. I could have my pleasure and walk away.

This time that doesn't seem to be what I crave. And it leaves me unsure, terrified, and unnerved.

* * *

I'm Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

* * *

The big deal in the police force in London. I've seen every type of gruesome crime, every lowlife, liars, swindlers, etc.

My married life was not a good one. I married young and inexperienced. And continually wanted more from my wife that she could give.

* * *

I had toyed a few times with blokes and even had a threesome. But, the social mores said to marry a female, and that's what I did.

Spent too much time loving my job more, spending long hours at my desk.

* * *

What is driving me to look at Mycroft Holmes and think for one fucking moment, he would entertain having sex with me?

Oh, maybe just to see if his iceberg demeanor could sink enough to 'have' a man.

* * *

His wealth, his position would be on the line if ever caught.  
I look at him, and the ground falls away. I want nothing more than to shed that tough exterior and see him melt with passion.

* * *

But, and this is the big question, what does Mycroft want?

Is he toying with me as he does with his autocratic friends, manipulating me, as he did in getting me to marry Sherlock?

I must confess I am stumped.

* * *

Mycroft can read people, deduce them as easy as Sherlock can. What does he see in me? An easy lay? If he even feels anything sexual.

* * *

I throw it up to the wind and let's see where it goes.

* * *

Sherlock gets his divorce within three weeks.

* * *

He walks into 221B with a smug look on him and waves the paper around in my face.

          "Here you go Greg. This is what you've been waiting for."

          "Stop it, Sherlock, I'll be out of your hair as soon as I find a place."

          "Oh, why not just crawl over to my brother and let him find you a mansion?"

          "Damn it, stop this! We both agree this was a mistake. Let it go and remember that we did have some great times. And leave your brother out of this."

* * *

He suddenly looks down at his shoes,"Forget what I said. You're right. It was good. Friends?"

He holds both arms open, and I go into them willingly. Even leading to a kiss or two.

* * *

To be honest, I have no idea where I'm going.

* * *

That evening John texts me

          _Greg, I have an idea. Why not take over my flat because I'm moving in with Sherlock_           _that would work John._

* * *

The next few days are a flurry of me moving out and John bringing his clothes back to 221B.

* * *

John and I manage an evening at the pub. It becomes an enlightening one for me as to what their relationship is like.

* * *

          "John, have you and Sherlock discussed your feelings to each other?"

Head down, looking at his beer on the table; he shakes his head no.

* * *

          "Oh for the love of God, what is wrong with you two?" incredulous at the silent admission.

          "Greg, I don't know how to approach it. What if-?"

          "Haven't both of you seen each other, the sly looks, the puppy dog eyes, the fact you would risk your lives to save one another?"

          "I can't. Can't voice it."

          "That does it. Never mind," I begin to say and then decide to keep my mouth shut. I'm going to have to conceive of an idea to merge these two men.

* * *

Mycroft calls me that week to inquire what I might need for the new flat. When I tell him that it's all taken care of, he has two cooked meals sent over with a bottle of the Talisker Skye whiskey I love so much. And, an invite to his home to share a home cooked meal of my choosing.

* * *

          'Ok, bite the bullet and go for it Lestrade', I think as I text with a thumping heart.

          _Thanks for the lovely gifts. About dinner at your place? When is convenient for you?_

It takes a minute for him to answer.

          _Dinner and a movie would be next Tuesday night at Chatham House at six pm. the car will pick you up_

After a brief pause I see another text from him.

          _starched collar and spats would be fine_

Wow, Mycroft made a joke!

          _see you then_

* * *

I'm shown upstairs again, as my heart thumps in my chest. I give a sigh as I see Mycroft in a dark brown three-piece suit, tie on and all.

          "Mycroft, I thought this was informal?"

          "Sorry Greg, but sometimes I find myself unable to tear away from the formality that I live in."

I walk up to him and undo his tie. Not looking into his eyes and not comprehending why I am doing this. It's too intimate and close.

Backing off, without looking at me he discards his jacket and vest.

* * *

          "I have almost everything made for dinner. Let's go down to the kitchen, and I'll finish up."

Am I second guessing or is his voice scratchy, maybe the effects of my being too close physically?

* * *

What a kitchen! Two ranges, large, large sink, cupboards galore and two refrigerators.

And a table long enough to seat ten and chairs to go with it.

* * *

Mycroft rolls up his sleeves and seeing him so relaxed sends tremors up my spine.

* * *

          "Okay, hand me an apron and give me something to do. I'm not going to stand around to watch you."

I have the task of making us a salad. All the fixings are on the table, just a matter of cutting it up and mixing it in a great crystal bowl.<

* * *

Mycroft has cooked us chicken cordon bleu, roasted rosemary potatoes, and mixed vegetables.

* * *

          " Never knew you had this talent. Sherlock will not cook anything."

          "Oh given a chance and inclination he could do the same. Mummy taught us to cook. She was too busy with her career to cook for us."

* * *

          "Shall we eat here Greg or upstairs to also watch a movie?"

          "Let's head upstairs. Besides, I could use another glass of that whiskey."

* * *

He leaves everything in the kitchen for the servant to bring up, and we walk up that long flight of steps.

Mycroft pours us drinks and sets the table, and I look for a movie.

          "Aha, Casablanca. Humphrey Bogart. Good?"

          "Since I have formed no particular taste in movies yet then whatever you see is fine with me."

We sit on the sofa and eat while the movie is running .

* * *

Finished with our meal we pause the movie to clean up. Mycroft leans back on the sofa with his feet up. I have two choices. 

I can take a chair or, as I proceed to do, sit back, take Mycroft's feet onto my lap.

* * *

The movie ends, and then I notice that I'd been rubbing his feet the whole time.  
I blush and turn my head away.

          "Don't Greg, it's most becoming of you to blush."

His feet come down; his body moves closer to me.

          "Mycroft, don't."

          "Why not? Talk to me, Greg."

          "I, I," stumbling for words.

* * *

Before I can put to voice the uncertainty, he reaches for my face with his hand, turns it towards him and brushes my lips with his. Every part of my body screams for him.

Another kiss follows, this one more intense and I find myself responding.

* * *

          "No, No, Mycroft. Let me alone."

          "I'm puzzled. You had sex with my brother, so gay is not the issue. What is-?"

I push up to stand, my world crumbling.

* * *

          "I, I don't know. I want to leave, to go home. Need time to think Mycroft," almost to tears.

Not a word from Mycroft. He calls the driver, and I head back to my flat.

* * *

Well, that was a bit of no good, Mycroft ponders as he continues to sit on the sofa.

Maybe I went too fast, and maybe I had the signs all wrong. But, I do recognize how his presence brings out the desire in me.

* * *

At this point, I have to wait for him to make a move if he does at all.

* * *

I avoid Sherlock and John as much as possible. I have enough on my mind with Mycroft without worrying about them two. John texts me a few times to have a night out, but I use the 'too busy' idea.

* * *

In truth though, I'm not busy with work. Too busy in my head. I thought I had some emotion for Sherlock when we were a couple. But this, this with Mycroft is more passionate, more intense than anything I had for Sherlock. It's ripping me to pieces.

* * *

On the one hand, I want to be with him. On the other hand, I am shaken by it. 

What if this is a passing fancy for this superior man? A romp in the bed, something he can play at and then leave me with the old broken heart idea.

Ultimately I know I have to face him.

* * *

I let a few weeks go by before texting Mycroft.

* * *

When I notice the text on my mobile is from Greg my heart rate speeds up. I'm in my office with two top dignitaries and cannot look at my phone to read it.

* * *

I excuse myself to go to the loo, shut the stall door, pull out my mobile to open it.

          _Mycroft, sorry for my behavior. Want to be with you. Can we meet at Chatham House sometime soon_

I can't get the answer out fast enough.

          _Yes, tonight. anytime after six_

          _Takeaway is fine. I will take a cab there._

* * *

Mycroft Holmes, you have to go back into that meeting. Calm down. For all, we know he will tell you to bugger off. So tonight at six.

* * *

Mycroft is still what I would call 'dressed.' He has a shirt, vest, and good trousers on. 

We stare at each other, not moving.

Going to the sideboard Mycroft pours whiskey for us and motions for me to sit.

He takes a bit swig of his drink. I take the chair while Mycroft has the sofa.

          "I don't know, Mycroft. I have such mixed emotions. You're right; gay is not the issue for me. What is-?" Before I can speak further, Mycroft holds up a hand.

          "Yes, you want to hear my intentions. I'd be lying if I said you didn't turn my life into a shambles. I want sex, but I want you as part of my life." At this point, he puts his head between his legs and gives out an immense sigh.  
I still don't know.

* * *

          "Mycroft, you can have anyone you want, from the best of the best, the cream of society. Why a guy like me from the slums?"

* * *

He looks up, gets to his feet and suddenly he's irate, moving around the room, glass in hand, talking more to himself than me. 

          " All my life I've been told to take care of my younger brother. I've done everything for him, getting him out of scrapes, drug overdoses and all kinds of silly nonsense. Never thought about myself and my problems. I've worked so damn hard to get where I am now. The cold, efficient Mycroft. The one who has total control over the British government. Well-!" 

Mycroft walks to the bar, fills his half-full glass of the whiskey and downs it.

* * *

I jump up, but it's too late to stop him from that drink.

* * *

          "Greg Lestrade, I want you! Body and soul! In and out! I'm not sure I love you, but if this is the agony that happens with love then fuck it all, I am in love! For god's sake, take me already!" 

And he holds out his arms to me.

What else can I do but gather him up and find that delectable mouth and kiss it? He sloppily kisses back, and I determine that he's shortly going to be quite drunk.

          "Okay, Mycroft, not the way to go about this."

* * *

The bedroom door is open, and I lead him into it. The shoes and socks and vest come off. I loosen his belt and unzip his trousers, with fingers trembling.

* * *

Over to the bar, I find a glass and fill it with water after finding the pitcher in the small refrigerator in the sideboard.

* * *

          "Mycroft, drink this water. If you don't drink lots of water, you'll be hung over. That was lots of drink you downed in a few short moments."

* * *

I head to the bathroom to pee and Mycroft is not in the bedroom when I get back.

* * *

Looking out to see he's in the sitting room, as I walk in, I see he has another glass of whiskey and has downed most of it. I slap it out of his hand, letting rest of the liquor spill on the carpet. I pay no attention to it.

* * *

          "Fucks sake, Mycroft! stop! Just stop!"

* * *

I all but push him back into the bedroom, on the bed and lying down. 

I bend down over him, kiss him gently, telling him,"I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Don't want any more of your shenanigans."

He laughs and I know he's drunk.

          "That's a real Irish word, isn't it? Greg?" His words slurring.

I kiss him again.

          "No, no questions now. You rest this off. If you need me, I'll be right in the sitting room. The door will be open so you can call." 

* * *

The couch beckons me, as I take off my shoes and unzip my trousers. Don't think Greg. Just wait til tomorrow. But that's a long way off.

* * *

Morning comes, and Mycroft awakens, holding onto his head.

* * *

          "Greg, I feel awful. Thanks for staying the night. There are toiletries in the other bathroom, and you can shower if you want."

          "I think I'll take you up on that. And call your man and have him send a light breakfast up. And coffee."

* * *

As food is brought up for me and Mycroft sips at his coffee, he looks so contrite, so childish I'm tempted to rock him in my arms.

* * *

          "I'm going home to change. Let's meet tonight and, without the benefit of liquor, let's talk."

          "Sounds good Greg. Forgive me for last night?"

I wave my hand to show it was not a big deal.

          "I'll see you at six. And do Chinese takeaway. "

* * *

How awkward it is when we next see each other at the appointed time. The two of us not knowing what to say or do.

* * *

I can't look at Greg, so I look out the window and speak,"Greg, I am in love with you. I want us to live together."

          "Mycroft, turn around and tell me this face to face."

I stand up and move so close to him that when he turns our bodies are touching. Our lips meet, and the kiss is soft, tentative.

          "Greg, do you love me?"

          "Mycroft Holmes, yes I do."

* * *

Our bodies come together hard. The soft kiss becomes insistent, mouths opening, tongues inserting, poking, drinking in the taste of each other.  
I begin to open the buttons on Mycroft's shirt when he pushes away,"To the bedroom," he breathlessly exclaims.

* * *

Mycroft sits on the bed, and I stand next to him, commencing to undo the buttons again, this time looking into his hazel eyes, drowning in the darkness of them.

* * *

His fingers unbutton my shirt with a slowness that drives me insane. I want to pull him apart swiftly, but on the other hand, I want this to last forever. Our first time.

* * *

          "Let's take our leisurely time, Greg." 

* * *

My breath is hurling out of me at an accelerated pace, and my hands are trembling.  
Our shirts now are thrown off onto the floor, our hands touching each other's chests, kissing lips, kissing chest, nipples.

* * *

Mycroft sees my hard protuberance in my trousers, wrapping his arms around me he squeezes my ass and blows on the swell.

* * *

          "No, no, too fast Mycroft," as I arch my back and push away from him.

* * *

He stands up and begins to unzip himself, and as I see that I shove his hands away, looking him in the eye with a mischevious grin, slowly unfasten him, and leave it as it is.

* * *

          "Okay, you want to tease?"

* * *

He walks away from me and begins to gyrate his hips towards me, all the while his hand is in his underwear.

* * *

          "Holy shit, Mycroft!" my breath drawing out.

He swivels around twice, stops next to me, and opens my zipper.  
My hands reach down to take off my trousers.

          "No Greg," takes my hand and places it on his bulging underwear, as he inserts his hand into my underwear to feel my hardened member.

* * *

          "Oh, shit, oh fuck, Mycroft, you can't-"

* * *

Almost simultaneously we land on the bed, both begin ridding ourselves of the last of our clothing.

* * *

Mycroft climbs atop me, and within seconds the rubbing of our hardened cocks against our bodies has us covered in our expelled passion.

* * *

Quieting down, the room coming back into focus for me, I exclaim to the man underneath me.

          "Mycroft never thought that for one minute you could be such an exhibitionist!"

We roll off each other and Mycroft begins to giggle.

          "Never computed that I could."

I smile and go for a flannel to wipe us off.

* * *

We fall asleep in each other's arms to wake during the night, getting acquainted with each other's bodies again.

* * *

The next morning at work, everyone notices the foolish look on my face. 

* * *

Sally Donovan says,"Glad to see you're finally happy Greg. Do what you need to do."

* * *

And I do. I move in with Mycroft and begin our life as a couple.


	4. A New Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Moriarty is alive and in their faces.

John Watson and I are back at 221B Baker Street. We settle into our old routine.

* * *

He has the clinic; I have my experiments at home and Barts. John's blog has gotten us some minor burglary cases for which we take in a small sum of money. There are also the murder cases that Lestrade calls us to handle with him.

* * *

There are still things left unsaid between John and I. Both of us seem to feel it's better that way.

* * *

A text comes through my phone one day. I look at it with trembling hands.

          _Sherlock, care to meet with an old friend, atop Barts would be good._

I stand with the phone in hand looking down at it, shocked, bewildered, not believing.

Only one person it could be. James Moriarty. But he died on Barts roof! He shot himself in the mouth!

* * *

          _Will join you, give me a time._

          _Tonight, by the light of the full moon. At ten._

          _Agreed._

          _do not tell anyone, not even Johnny._

          _agreed._

* * *

On the roof again. Brings back memories I had thought to forget.

Yes, it is a full moon tonight, and the stars are twinkling in all their glory. Any other time I would be admiring it with John.

* * *

The door swings open and out steps Jim. Yes, he's real all right!

          "Well, hello my friend. Life does surprise us, doesn't it?"

* * *

I refuse to acknowledge, wait to see what he has on his mind.

          "I see you are waiting for me to speak. Don't want to put your foot in just yet."

He steps up close to me, too close.

          "While I was busy with other matters I can tell you had a great time here. I heard you and Lestrade were married. What a joke Sherlock! Can't take care of yourself? Had to have big brother run your life? At least we all know you like men? And, now you're back with the great doctor."

* * *

I'm getting restless.

          "State what you want and let's get on with it," in what I hope is a neutral tone.

* * *

          "No, no not going to rush this. You see Sherlock; I now have the upper hand, at least where you are concerned. Let's sit down and chat awhile, shall we?"

He points to a spot by a chimney where we can sit on the floor and lean back.

* * *

He makes sure he is sitting very close to me and when I try to move he moves with me.

          "Can I kiss you, Sherlock Holmes?"

          "Jim, what is your point to all this right now?"

          "I'll ask again, can I kiss you?"

* * *

I am trying to surmise where this is leading but have no idea. My mind is drawing a blank.

Reluctantly I turn my face towards him; he leans towards me and his lips touch mine very tentatively. He holds it, stops and placing his hand on my face he kisses again, this time a bit more suggestively.

* * *

          "God damn, Sherlock, I've wanted that for a long time."

I start to get up very agitated, "well, now you have it, so I'll be on my way."

He pulls me back down.

          "Oh, no, you don't get away that easy."

* * *

Anger crosses my face, and his next words are harsh.

          "No, I told you it's my time, my time with you. You fucked Greg and probably have fucked John. I want your body; I want to see you come, to writhe under my hands, not some stupid detective or doctor. What you need is someone to challenge you, and as your consulting criminal, I will do that. Do you understand me now?"

* * *

I sit still, on the outside very calm, but inside my mouth is dry, and I'm panicked. 

I know there's more to this since I would not do this of my own accord. There is a catch to it, and I'm not going to like it.

* * *

          "What if I say no?"

          "Now you begin to understand." 

* * *

He smirks, stands up and speaks softly into the phone, so I can't hear it. He gets off the phone and turns to me.

* * *

          "At this very moment, and for as long as I say so, there is a person with a sniper rifle that will continually watch John Watson."

I cannot help but look wide-eyed at Jim.

          "You and I will meet up at different places which I'll suggest. We will," and he air-quotes "'play' until I'm ready to let you go. One word about this to anyone, including that meddling brother of yours and John, goes," he puts his finger to his head as if it's a gun and goes,"boom"

* * *

Pausing long enough for me to absorb that he continues.

          "And you'll never guess who the sniper is? Who do you think, my dear?"

By now I already have guessed it.

          "Mary Morstan, John's ex and a professional sniper."

          "You are right. Mary hasn't forgiven John and would gladly take him out. And when I say so, I can make sure she has safe passage to someplace she can hole up in."

* * *

          "Here are the rules to this game, Sherlock. You will explain to everyone that you're meeting an old crush who happens to be a celebrity. He wants total anonymity, which means Mycroft, Lestrade and all are to stay out of this. No stupids following you.

* * *

Flipping his mobile in his hand a few times, I sit to wait for more out of his mouth.

* * *

          "I will send a messenger to 221B which is to be handed to you only. It will give you day, time, hotel, room and any other instructions. Once at the hotel go to the desk clerk, who will give you the key. We may spend the night or not. And, yes, you will enjoy our time together, I will make sure of that," a sneer, a not quite smile appears on his face. 

          "Questions?"

          "No, you have me cornered."

          "Don't look at it that way, Sherlock; we're going to enjoy each other, have some good times".

* * *

He stands up, reaches out a hand to help me up. 

          "Give your man a kiss, and be on your way." 

As I stand, he pulls me in close, so close I feel his hardness against my thigh. Tongue probing, lips sucking my tongue out, he rubs against me. Humming, arms around me, I let him have his way as his back arches, and he comes in his trousers.

* * *

A wink and he heads to the door and leaves the roof.

* * *

I tell the story Jim wants me to relate to Mycroft and John and from both of them, I get skeptical looks and question after question which I don't answer.

* * *

John especially looks hurt even though he tries to hide it. I very strongly advise both of them not to interfere.

* * *


	5. Jim's Message No. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim sends the messages to Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of sex, anal, oral, cock sucking,

MESSAGE ONE: 

Strand Hotel, Tuesday, June 22. 6pm.

Room 146. Champagne awaits. Keys are given to me by the desk clerk.

* * *

I enter room 146 and see it is a suite, complete with a small kitchenette, sitting room, and bedroom.

* * *

Jim stands up as I approach him, gives me a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

A glass of champagne, placed in my hands, and an invite to sit down.

I stare at the glass after taking a sip.

          "No excessive drinking. I want you fully alert," he exclaims.

Not sure what to do I sit and observe him. He is very tense, anxious. I surmise that even he doesn't know where to begin, how to grasp what he is about to do.

* * *

My stomach turns but, decisions need to be made, and I determine I'll be the one to begin.

* * *

Standing up, I reach out my hand and pull Jim up from his seat. He looks very shocked.

I enclose him in an embrace and begin by running my fingers through his hair and kissing him on the forehead.

As we are the same height, all he needs to do is place his lips on mine for a kiss. Tender, just lips, his hands around my waist and mine around his neck.

But his kiss becomes rough, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, biting my lips, sucking my tongue until I begin to gasp with pain and arousal.

* * *

Jim unbuttons my shirt as his lips find my neck, my ears, my skin. 

My shirt and his fall to the ground as we both unbutton and hands find our chests.

          "Good Sherlock, you are seizing the moment. Don't stop."

          "I know what you want, and there's no sense in not being a willing partner."

He smiles, his hand reaches down to my crotch which is a large bulge by now.

* * *

          "No, why don't we take it slow."I say, pushing him away from me.

* * *

Taking my hand, we walk into the bedroom where he sits me on the bed and caresses my face, my hair and his arms stroke down mine.

* * *

He murmurs, and his breath comes faster.

          " Oh I can't," as he takes a deep breath and unzips my trousers with shaking hands.

          "I fucking want you, all of you. and right now!"

* * *

I place my hands on his trousers intending to take them off, but he brushes my hands aside and unzips quickly and shoves the trousers, underwear and all off of him.

Doing the same with me, he presses me down on the bed, climbs atop me and rubs our cocks together. His fingers clasp mine, and he holds them tight.

* * *

          "Ah, oh, this is goood-," he comes breathlessly and pushing hard down on me. I rock into him and find my orgasm after him.

* * *

He rolls over, lying on his side.

          "Too fast; I wanted you so badly I couldn't hold out. Go get something to clean us up."

* * *

Without dressing, he moves to fit me next to him on the bed, his body wrapping around me. I didn't expect that to happen.

He falls asleep, and I don't know if he wants me to stay, so I ease off the bed, put on my pants and into the sitting room to watch telly.

* * *

He wakes to find me, shock on his face.

          " This certainly is a surprise. I thought you would leave."

          "I don't know the procedure, and it's all up to you."

He throws his head back, laughing," darling Sherlock, come back to bed. Let's play some more."

* * *

Naked as he is, he escorts me to the bed. Throwing off my clothes, I lay down next to him.

          "Come play with me. Do what I like."

* * *

Leaning on my elbow, I begin by touching his face, his lips. His tongue reaches out to my hand, and he sucks on each finger while watching my eyes. My tongue starts to flick into his ear, his neck, and each move has him shivering.

Slowly I ghost my hands along his arms, and then his chest. I kiss and suck on his nipples. His chest rises to meet my touch.

My tongue follows the line of hair from his stomach to just shy of his cock. It twitches and is almost erect.

* * *

          "What do you want me to do, Jim? Tell me."

          "Suck me off. Let me come in that gorgeous mouth of yours."

* * *

Finding it easier to get between his legs I spread his thighs, run my tongue along the inside.

* * *

His balls are licked and lightly sucked with my mouth and tongue. His jerking movements keep interrupting my voyages on his body.

          "My cock, pleaaase." 

I ignore his pleas and continue to play the area all around his cock.

His thighs, his pubic hair, and his balls all get my attention.

His cock exudes pre-come, so I lick it up.

          "Gah, ohh," as he pounds the sheets with his fists. 

He lifts his head up and yells to me," God damn it! What are you waiting for? Suck me off!"

I bring my head and smile at him, then lower it to the tip of his erect shaft. Ever so steadily I roll my tongue around and place my mouth fully on him. And before I can do more he lifts his hips, rocks up into me and comes with force.

* * *

          "God damn you, I never expected you to do this. You are fucking great.

Breathless with the aftermath of his orgasm.

          "Now let me take care of you."

          "Not necessary Jim. I am fine."

He grabs me and kisses me, "get dressed, and you can go home now."


	6. Jim's Message No.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Takes Control

MESSAGE NO.2

Strand Hotel Sunday, June 27 five pm No Underwear. Suit and tie. Maybe Overnight

Room 146

* * *

As I walk into the room, I see a sumptuous dinner set up with wine, flowers and soft music playing from the telly.          "Sit and enjoy," Jim remarks as he pours a glass of wine for me.

* * *

          "Last time we met I didn't expect you to be so willing. So eager to please me. But that's not what I want, and tonight I will get what I want."

* * *

I eat a little, not sure what to say or do. His every movement watched by me.

* * *

          "Have more wine, dear."

          "No, one is enough for me."

Jim abruptly stands, approaches my chair, pours the wine, glass filling to the top.

          "Not asking but telling. Have two more glasses, dear," his voice deadly sounding.

* * *

I empty the glass, and he immediately pours another, sits back down and watches.

          "Wait a bit before the next. I don't want a sick Sherlock."

* * *

Dinner done, the leftovers wheeled out, Jim pours another glass.

I drink the third glass and begin to feel lightheaded, dizzy.

* * *

          "Sit on your daddy's lap," he pats as he sprawls on the couch. I do so, and he kisses me, roughly.

He's biting my lips, making blood appear. His tongue pushes in hard and then sucks my tongue enough to make me gag. His lips find my neck and nip my skin.          "Jim," I exclaim,"that hurts!"

          " I guess I'm plain mean, my darling."

* * *

His hardness is pushing against my ass.

          "Feel my prick? Sometime soon it's going up your ass. It's gonna tear into you".

He chuckles at this, all the while taking off my jacket and tie.

* * *

          "Stand up baby," and he leads into the bedroom.

* * *

A bit woozy yet, Jim instructs me to undress him, and I can't help but want to tease, thinking he might enjoy it so much he'll be quickly satisfied. 

I bite at his shirt buttons, then open them using tongue and fingers, push the shirt down and off.

One hand unzips his trousers while the other follows down on his skin to his pubic hair, then to his cock as it pops out of its encumbrance.

* * *

To the floor, his pants and belt go, and he reclines on the bed.

* * *

          "Dearest Sherlock, strip for me. Make it seductive."

* * *

The drinks have unquestionably detached me from my mind enough to not balk at this. 

* * *

I back away from the bed, tussle my hair, which brings a moan from Jim, begin unbuttoning my shirt with a button and a sultry look. One side slips off my shoulder, I turn my back and pull down the white shirt and let it slide to the floor.

* * *

Turning to face the bed I rotate my hips while unzipping a bit at a time.Jim's prick is pulsating. 

I shake my hips, and the black trousers slide to the floor. I step out of them and seductively, with half-shut eyes wait for Jims next command .

* * *

          " You cock. You're enjoying this a bit too much," he leers.

* * *

Rising from the bed, he moves to me, slaps my prick hard enough that I grab myself, doubling over in pain, finding myself on my knees.

* * *

          "Get up, take your hands off yourself," he barks.

* * *

As I do, he picks up his belt from the floor, swats it at my ass.

My back arches and my hands instinctively goes back to cover my ass.

* * *

          "Didn't I tell you to get your hands away from yourself?"

* * *

The belt whooshes around to touch my already tingling ass.

          "Greg was too kind to you. You're the kind that needs an uncaring fucker. And that's just what I am. I may admire you, your mind, which I can't get to. But your body? That's where I can rule. And, Sherlock, you should see me in a crown!"

* * *

He steps back, admiring me, walking around, checking every aspect of me.

I'm holding my temper, knowing that Jim is ready to attack me. To bring me down.

* * *

          "On the bed face down, hips in the air," Jim exclaims with a snicker, but also an authoritative tone to him.

* * *

I comply, but part of me is angry. Angry that I have to go along with this. There has to be a way out without putting John in danger.

* * *

          "Oh, oh, no," I exclaim as Jim thrusts three fingers in my hole without warning, without lube.

It hurts horribly, my yelping doing nothing to alleviate the shoving in of his fingers.

* * *

His pushes are violent, insistent and leave no doubt as to what is next.

* * *

          "What do you say, want more?"

          "Whatever you want, Jim," my voice raspy, almost in tears.

          "Now you're beginning to understand what I want! I want, need all of you."

* * *

          "Ow, ou," I scream and try to move my butt as far as possible away from the searing hurt.

* * *

Jim has four fingers in me shoving in and out, tearing, ripping me.

* * *

I scream out, crying in anguish.

* * *

He withdraws and before I can relax his cock shoves in, his body tightly against my hips. And he moans, screeches and comes in waves.

* * *

His head rests on my back for a moment, and he withdraws.

* * *

Lying on the bed, he quietly says, "ok, get cleaned up and get out of here. I'm done with you for now."

* * *

I'm in pain but find it easy to wash up, get dressed and leave as fast as I can.


	7. Jim's Message No 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He ties Sherlock up

This past week I had to hide the pain I was feeling. Everyone commented that I was snappier than usual. 

Could not sit on a hard surface and even a soft cushion was irritating.

Keeping to my room was the best choice, and I did that as much as possible.John kept trying to find out who my 'celebrity' friend was and when this 'visiting' was going to end.

* * *

Message No 3

The Wheel Lodge Tuesday July 6 8pm maybe overnight or more

Room 116.

* * *

Pulling up to this lodge my instincts kicked in. 

It is a far cry from the fancy hotel we had been in before. This place is cheap, the one-night stand hotel.

* * *

It looked like Jim was ramping it up, and not in my favor.

* * *

I figured he could get away with more without alerting hotel employees. They had probably heard and seen all.

* * *

I knew I couldn't get out of this one, but I'll be damned if this was going to go on much longer.

* * *

The room I walk into houses a king bed, dresser, nightstand, tv, and a bathroom. Everything is cookie-cutter.

* * *

Jim is lying on the bed, reading, and as I step into the room he places the book down and rises to meet me.

* * *

Putting his arms around me, his face close to mine, he murmurs," My love."

His expressions of love are always sarcastic, hard, biting.

* * *

His tongue finds my lips, my cheeks, and my neck. I stand very still, not initiating, frozen in place.

* * *

          "I'm sorry you didn't enjoy our last date." 

* * *

He removes his clothes, and I do the same, just following his lead.

He has me lie on the bed.

          "Daddy's tired of nice now."

* * *

A large leather suitcase is on one of the chairs. 

Jim opens the case and out pours all kinds of leather straps, and chains.

          "Jim, is that necessary? Do we have to go this route?" uncertainty straining my voice.

          "Sherlock, I want to own you, to have you in my power. You'll never give that to me willingly."

* * *

Feeling at wit's end I let out a deep sigh and give in to whatever this will bring.

* * *

As each wrist cuff and foot cuff goes on I become more uneasy, tense, agitated.

* * *

My wrists are linked together, and then a chain from that goes to a post on either end of the headboard. I can be turned over without moving any of the shackles.

My legs have only the cuffs on.

* * *

I'm fighting the urge to struggle, but have to keep calm to alleviate any anger from Jim.

* * *

Jim's legs straddle me on the bed; his mouth finds mine, and his kisses are hard, biting my lips, drawing blood, sucking my neck, my cheeks.

* * *

There is no softness about what he's doing.

* * *

When he moves to my nipples his teeth bite, and I find myself moaning in pain. His body draws up to my face, and he opens my mouth with his hand and shoves his cock in.

* * *

          "Suck me hard you gorgeous man."

* * *

He rocks his hips back and forth bringing his cock the friction it needs in my mouth.

I'm gagging, and tears roll down my cheeks.

* * *

His yowl and screech bring him to a climax as he shivers with his pleasure.

And he lays back down on the bed.

* * *

          "I'll let you up to wash and pee." 

          "Rest now until I am ready again."

* * *

Jim takes up the book he was reading. It is pornographic novel The Sleeping Beauty by Anne Rice.

* * *

I must have dozed off and what wakes me is a sudden pain across my thighs. 

* * *

My eyes open immediately, and I see Jim, in the pale light from a lamp, with a switch in his hand.

That's where the pain came from.

His eyes are fixated on my body. My eyes fasten on Jim as he quietly states, "Mine, you're all mine."

The quietness of his voice only serves to show me that he is obsessing. With and about me.

* * *

He has a wood bar that he uses to keep my legs spread apart. It's linked to each of the cuffs on my ankles.

* * *

Taking from his case a scarf he wraps it around my eyes, blindfolding me.

* * *

And then, the strangest sensation! I feel something light and wispy going up and down my body.

* * *

I think I remember something from the movie fifty shades where he uses feathers on the woman's body.

That's now clear as to what Jim is applying to me.

It has the effect of not only soothing but arousing my finer senses.

I seem to vibrate to the rhythm of the strokes. As Jim is moving the feathers, he is humming faintly.

I have no awareness of time, no thought of where I am or who is with me.

* * *

My brain, no my cognizance is to the touch and touch only. All I want is the sensation to continue, to be unceasing.

* * *

Suddenly, I find myself coming, great spurts of ejaculate exploding from my cock, on my pubic hair and stomach. 

Beads of sweat roll off my face and body, weak and knowing that I've never had such an experience. Never felt so weak in the hands of another.

* * *

Leaving the blindfold on Jim removes the bar from my legs and turns me on my stomach. 

* * *

The switch suddenly without warning lands on my back, my thighs, my arms.

My hands fist into the sheet and I bite the pillowcase to keep my moans from echoing off the walls.

I can sense that bruises are being raised, some are even open cuts.

Just as quickly as it began, the torture stops.

* * *

The mattress sinks as Jim climbs on the bed and raises my hips, so I'm on my knees.

His fingers penetrate my arse hole with no lube. Three, four it doesn't matter. The affliction is all the same.

I sense lube being applied to his fingers and he thrusts in once more.

Leaving one finger in while he shoves his cock into my hole and begins to pump.

* * *

He ejaculates quickly and stays in until his shaft softens enough to fall out.

* * *

Removing the wet scarf, wet from my tears and sweat, and pushing me to lie flat on the bed he scornfully states,"my dear one, you should see yourself now. The usually proper Sherlock, disheveled, and properly fucked."

* * *

          "Sleep my love, and we will continue this later."

          " Jim, can you let my arms down? They're falling asleep."

* * *

He loosens the chains so I can bring my arms down to my side.

* * *

It takes no time for me to fall into a troubled slumber.

* * *

Morning is here when I awake. Hurting, thirsty and needing the loo.

* * *

Jim is up and lets me move to the bathroom, still with the shackles on me.

In the mirror, I see a puffy face, hair in total tangles, lips swollen and bruised.

I pee, wash my face and hobble back to the room. My back and thighs pulsate with the bruises that are there.

* * *

Jim, fully dressed, hands me some orange juice from a tray of food he has procured.

          "Do you want some tea and toast?"

I just shake no.

          "Lie on your stomach, and I'll make you feel a bit better."

* * *

As I lie on the bed, waiting, I begin to formulate a plan to get me out of this situation.

Jim scrambles on the bed and has in his hands a salve which he proceeds carefully apply to my wounds. It is soothing.

* * *

As he's working I notice the rubbing of his cock between my ass crack. His trouser fly is open, exposing his full cock.

          "I give you a choice. Your ass or your mouth."

My ass is still sore, so I opt for my mouth.

* * *

I'm not tied to the bedposts right now; he moves to sit at the head of the bed, raising his hips with a pillow.

* * *

I lay on my stomach, and my hands work around his prick.

          "Yes, my dear, my darling" as his hands fold into my hair.

          " Work me oh so beautifully, fingers in my ass too."

* * *

My tongue rounds his glans; one hand plays both prick and balls. I spit on my finger and wiggle around the puckered hole until I feel it give. And push in with a finger.  
He finally comes in my mouth.

* * *

My head goes down on the sheet, and I let out a deep breath.

How long, how long must I put up with this.

* * *

I finally have a plan. Now how to convey it to John. Whenever this madman lets me go this time around.

* * *

All day long he manages to take whatever he can from me. That night he even gets me to say I love him. The exhaustion and the beatings are just too much. And besides, I know there is an ending.

* * *

The next morning I'm let go. I don't even bother showering, just take a cab and arrive at 221B. 

I know John is at work and cannot see the state I am in.

* * *

A shower, some tea, and rest is what I crave.


	8. Sherlock's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a note to John

The next day, Wednesday, as weary and hurting as I am I head to Barts Hospital.

* * *

I find Molly in the morgue. She glances at me and then glances again aghast.

* * *

          "My word, Sherlock, you look like you've been through hell!"

          "I feel like it. Molly, I need a big, big favor from you. I'm going to write a note to John, and I want you to deliver it to the clinic. Not to the flat. Do you understand?"

She looks at me puzzled but agrees.

I find a piece of paper and Molly gives me a pencil.

          _John, read this carefully and follow the instructions as written. Your life and mine are in danger. The 'celebrity' is Jim Moriarty. Yes, he is alive. He has been holding me hostage. There's a sniper trained on you, and if I don't meet with Jim, the sniper shoots you. The sniper is Mary Morstan. Moriarty has me meeting him at hotels._

* * *

I have to be as specific as possible with what I write next.

* * *

          _The Plan: I will hug you at the flat at one point and slip you the hotel and particulars. (Flat has a hidden camera) inform Lestrade of what is happening, not on your cell, but in person. You will advise Lestrade of this, and the two of you will openly drive to the hotel. Break in to the room. From here on I cannot predict what will happen exactly. I can only surmise. Mary will not be able to shoot you. You or Lestrade will have to. And one of you will take down Moriarty. Sherlock_

* * *

At this point I think John realizes that whoever I am with is torturing me mentally and physically and is having troubles keeping his head about him.

I can't even feel comfortable going out to dinner because I can't sit well. John is fuming and is worried about my state of health.

* * *

Message No.4

The Wheel Lodge Tuesday, July 13 8 pm, maybe overnight

Room 116.

* * *

The day is now Friday.

* * *

I pocket the note and wait for John to arrive at the flat. I hear his steps and prepare to meet him.

* * *

          "John, I'm not feeling well, I almost fainted just now." 

And in saying it, I sway, and John catches me in his arms.

          "Sherlock, come sit down and tell me what's happening. You've not looked good the last weeks."

* * *

I slip the note into his jacket pocket, and he strips the jacket off, placing it on the coat rack. His eyes convey that he has gotten the signal.

* * *

John goes through the motions of checking my vitals. His hands are shaking as he touches me. His hands brush my hair ever so lightly, and I shiver. Our eyes lock, and for once we seem to understand that there is something we will have to discuss once this is over.

* * *

Saturday, before going to the clinic I make a detour to Lestrade's flat. 

Explaining what is happening and how uneasy I have been all these weeks about Sherlock and his 'celebrity' friend. Lestrade is more than willing to help out.

* * *

We map out a plan of attack.          "Should I let Mycroft in on the happenings, Greg?"

          " I marvel that he doesn't already know, but let's call him."

Mycroft inferred that he knew something but also knew either John or Sherlock's life was in jeopardy.

He thought the flat and our mobile phones were bugged.

* * *

We formulated a plan of attack.

* * *

But it meant Greg and I were going into the hotel room alone and trusting we could handle it. Mycroft would only come in after we were in the room.


	9. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hopes he will meet Jim for the last time

Message No.4

The Wheel Lodge Tuesday, July 13 8 pm, maybe overnight

Room 116.

* * *

As I walk into room 116, I plan to do as much as Jim wants without question.

I want to believe that I won't have to spend too much time in this man's company anymore.

So for that reason, I hope that nothing goes wrong with our plan.

* * *

Jim is lying on the bed fully clothed.

He eyes me and inquires about my health.

So he does have a spy camera in the flat!

* * *

          "This has been an ordeal for me, Jim. I'm still a bit exhausted."

          "Oh, my poor dear!" 

Saying that as he lifts off the bed. The sympathy is artificial.

          "Come to me; I will take it easy on you tonight," holding out his arms.

As his arms enfold me, he bends to me and lightly kisses my lips. I open my lips and let his tongue slide in and the kiss becomes uncontrolled.

His arms come forward; he's swiftly reducing my clothing to a puddle on the floor.

I have no choice but to have his clothing in a mess on the floor also.

Breathlessly he pushes me towards the bed, and I lie down with him next to me.

* * *

His hands wander over my body, and when he touches my back, I wince.

          "Poor Sherlock, have I hurt my darling? Forget Johnny boy. I promise not to hurt you anymore if you readily come to me when I call. What do you say to that?"

          "Kiss me, kiss me hard," in answer to this question.

* * *

Where are John and Greg?

* * *

          "I want to fuck you in your ass again. You'll get used to it soon."

He places a pillow under my hips and lubes his already stiff cock. Spreading my legs a finger plays with my tight hole. To my dismay, I'm aroused.

          "Look at me, my love, see how nicely I'm treating you! I want to see those lovely eyes blown open with desire for me."

And with his finger going into my ass hole he also inserts his cock.

          "Hmm," 

Forgetting all but the sensations going through my body.

* * *

His hands are on my rigid shaft, playing it. His movements in my ass sending waves of must-have cravings to my body.

Moving slowly within me, he remarks a bit breathless," I know I'm going to die soon. I love you, Sherlock. Forgive me."

* * *

The front door opens.


	10. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg at the hotel rescuing Sherlock.

The door opens, and John surges in with gun drawn.

Immediately points it at Jim and I see hesitation on his face for some reason.

* * *

Maybe it's the sight of me on my back, legs around Jim, him rocking his hips back and forth, cock in my ass and his hand vigorously pumping my shaft.

* * *

          "John, look, I'm going to come inside Sherlock. Fuck him hard."

He leans down, sucks me. I can't help it. I come, as Jim shoots his juices up inside me.

Jim looks at John, smirks and John shoots, hits him squarely in the head.

* * *

I hear shots outside.

* * *

I kick Jim's body away from me, curl up in a ball and quickly turn my back towards John.

* * *

Long, hard sobs rack my body.

* * *

          "I took care of Mary," I hear Greg exclaim as he joins John at the entrance to the room.

* * *

Greg looks at the scene in front of him. Sherlock, naked, feet pulled up and turned away from them. Jim's body sprawled out, blood everywhere on the sheets and he tells John.

          "Let me get the fuckers body out, and you take your time with Sherlock." 

They both haul the dead man out of the room, and John returns.

* * *

John clambers onto the bed, and as he moves to curl up beside me, he sees the bruises, welts on my back and thighs.

          "Shit, Sherlock, what has this-" and he stops. 

His hand caresses along my arm, my hair.

          "Sh, sh, it's all fine now. Everything is all fine. We are going home, Sherlock."

* * *

          "Don't look at me, don't touch me! Go away!"

          "Sherlock, get dressed. I'll be waiting outside, John says gently. 

He's recognizing that I am embarrassed.

* * *

I drag myself out of the hotel room, sees John, sees Greg and Mycroft standing a bit away talking, police cars with lights flashing.

* * *

Everything stops when I come out.

* * *

Head down; I stammer to John,"get me away from them. I don't want to talk."

* * *

John clasps me around the waist and with the other hand up halts the progress of Greg and Mycroft.

          "I want a car to take him home; everything else can wait."

* * *

Greg opens the door to one of the police cars, and John leads me, a shattered man into the car, and we depart.

* * *


	11. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs time. John sees to his every wish.

Once at home, I advise Sherlock to get into bed.

* * *

I get a sedative from my bag, and walking into the bedroom; I see Sherlock under the covers in a fetal position, turned face away from the door and me.

* * *

          "Sherlock, take this for now. It will make you sleep. Tomorrow we'll take care of the bruises and anything else you need."

          "Go away, leave me alone. As a matter of fact, get me some cocaine."

I don't even give that a second thought or have an answer to it.

* * *

The hour is late but I know Mrs. Hudson has heard us come in, and I go down to her flat, knock on her door. 

          "It's John, and I need your help."

She opens the door in her robe, concern on her face.

          "Whatever you need John."

          "Sherlock has been through a terrible ordeal, and it may take awhile for him to recover.

Can I ask you for breakfast tomorrow? And during this week some of your great pastries for him?"

          "Anything, John, and if you want for anything else let me know."

As I get ready to go upstairs,"Oh, and he is to have no visitors, not even, and especially not Mycroft."

She nods but looks hesitant, "That man may be hard for me to stop, but I'll try."

* * *

We both hear a yell from upstairs.

I take the stairs two at a time, and into the bedroom.

          "Sherlock, what?-"

          "John, go away. I want a shower."

          "I just gave you a sedative, and that's not a good idea."

          "Fuck your ideas. Get out of my room. I'm going to shower, whether you like it or not."

I move out of the room but determine that I will stay next to the bathroom just in case.

* * *

Sherlock is now just beginning to feel the trauma of what he suffered. I have to hold my temper and just be here for him.

* * *

He finishes, and I hear him go into his room.

I don't go in, but I'm going to sleep on the couch instead of my bedroom. Easier to be around him if he wants me.

* * *

Mycroft texts me the next day. 

          _What can I do to help? Will he see me_

          _Right now he won't even acknowledge me. If we need your services we'll let you know._

Greg then texts me next.

          _John, I can't imagine what that man has been through. Give him my love. I know he's probably not capable yet, but I will have to get a statement soon._

          _Greg, I'll get down to the station as quickly as I can._

          _Maybe I can come to you?"_

          _I don't imagine he wants any one around him yet._

          _Ok_

* * *

Life with Sherlock for the next days is rough. 

* * *

He stays curled up either on the sofa or in bed. He will not look me in the face, let alone the eyes.

I can't get him to eat much, and if it wasn't for the sedative I don't think he would sleep.

* * *

Grumpy isn't the word for him.

* * *

One night I've had it.

He's been particularly obnoxious all day.

He's on the sofa in his now usual position. I bring him dinner, and he turns, looks at it and hits the tray with his hand sending the food spilling all over me, the table and the floor.

          "Ok, this is enough! You'll get up and clean this!"

Back to the coiled position he goes.

"Get the fuck up and clean up the mess you just made! "

Ignoring my yell, he lies there.

* * *

Something takes hold of me. My temper!

* * *

I lean down to him, grab his body and roll him off the couch onto the floor. His face is murderous looking as he grabs my shirt and pulls me down, smacking me in the face.

That takes me by surprise, and I punch him in the stomach.

The table gets kicked out of the way as he pulls me onto the floor and straddles me, his hand slapping my face with all his power behind it.

My head jerks to one side with the blow.

I push him off me, and as I try to crawl away, he knees me in the groin.

I double over, grab his leg and hit him as hard as I can on the back of his thigh. Just where the bruises and welts are.

* * *

He cries out in pain, grabbing his leg.

          "Now,"I say, out of breath, "Clean up your fucking mess, and take your fucking life away from me."

I get off the floor and into the bathroom to wash my face and to put myself back together. I pack a bag and text Greg,

          _I'm coming to your flat if you don't mind. Don't ask questions please_

* * *

Text after text follows from Sherlock. I ignore all of them. He pleads, he begs forgiveness, he even curses at me.

* * *

          "John, go back. Whatever happened just now, go back. Before you regret it again."

          "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Turning my temper to him, he backs away, hands in front of him.

          "John, what are you two buggers doing to yourselves? You and I have been over this before; no don't wave your hand at me like it's not a thing."

* * *

He pours a drink for himself and me, and when he goes to give it to me he stops, shaking his head.  
Before I can take the drink I pull my hand back, grab him by the shirt and holler at him.

          "No, No, Get the hell out of here! You're not staying here. You're not going to ignore this anymore! Go back to that man and for once, be honest with him. You are fucking in love with him."

* * *

I go to protest, and Greg begins pushing me out of the flat.

          "You're not welcome here. Your home is 221B Baker Street. Get out!"

* * *

I walk the streets of London. My phone is constantly going off, both from Sherlock and Greg, and I don't answer. I find a park bench and sit. The tears roll down, at first a bit but then the sobs come, and it moves over me in wave after wave.

* * *

A policeman sees, sits next to me and tries to soothe me.

He recognizes me.

          "Doctor Watson, do you want me to escort you home?"

I shake my head no, and whisper,"I'll be okay, thanks for your concern."

He stands up and walks away, looking back constantly.

* * *

Home. Where is home? 

Was home in the bedsit after I came back to London? Was home with Mary?

No, I begin to see, to understand. Home has always been where Sherlock Holmes has been.

Whether at 221B, in a back alley, a restaurant, the morgue, anywhere where the presence of Sherlock is, that is home. I belong there. And that's where my feet take me. To the door of 221B Baker Street and Sherlock.

* * *


	12. Repairing the Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tells all. John and Sherlock work things out

I head up the stairs to find that not only is the food cleaned up from last night, but all the paperwork that cluttered the sitting room is gone. 

And the kitchen is spotless. No microscope, no lab experiments.

* * *

          "Sherlock," I yell, as I hang my coat up.

* * *

He steps out of his bedroom looking like hell.

His tangled curls now even more tangled. His face swollen and eyes red. He's looking down at the floor.

* * *

          "Damn, what a mess we make of things don't we?" I try to chuckle as I say this.

          "Are you staying?" in a small voice. 

Not like the booming baritone, I'm used to all the time.

"Yes, I am. Come sit and let's talk."

* * *

          "John," as he sits in his chair, "Jim put me through hell."

I hold my hand up to stop him.

          "No, let me get this out. Let me tell you. I didn't the last time I disappeared, and you found out the hard way about the torture and mind distorting."

          "Let me get us some tea first."

" I made some. It's on the stove. And Mrs. Hudson baked some biscuits for us."

I don't comment on this unusual turn of events. His making the tea.

* * *

Taking in the whole pot and two cups, I pour for the both of us and sit in my chair across from my friend.

          " You already know that Jim contacted me and threatened you. Again, like the last time I had no choice. At least I thought so. Both times it would have been smarter to let you know so you could help."

I keep my mouth shut and let him go on.

* * *

          " In Jim's own way, he loved me. It was possessive and destructive. What unnerved me as this enfolded was that I enjoyed some of it. Yes, it was all sex. But, it rattled me. Why? He took by force; he owned me. It was all total control on his part."

At this point, Sherlock is looking at me directly. Gesturing with his hands revealing a point of view I had never seen or heard. Sherlock was always in control.

* * *

          "Mainly because you were in danger. That was the reason he dominated me so completely."

He stops, looks down to the floor, both of us now quiet, contemplating.          "Sherlock, this has to stop. If any of our enemies know they can do this, then we are lost."

          "John, I am fully aware. You are my weak point. No, don't say anything. Let me finish. You are the reason, the embodiment of all I have and hold dear to me. From now on you will be informed of any and all occurrences in my life. I love you, John."

          "Sherlock, you don't have to go on...wait a minute what did you say?"

          "Why do I always have to repeat myself?" he states a bit annoyed. 

          I'll repeat it this time only. I love you."

          "As a friend?"

          "John, John, get this through that tiny brain of yours. I love you as a friend, mate, boyfriend, and lover. Now, do you understand?"

I swallow hard. Now, John, this is the moment. Either shit or get off the pot.

* * *

          "Sherlock, I've denied and denied my feelings for you. But, you utter git, yes I love you also," my voice breaking.

* * *

At that Sherlock shoves off the chair and takes hold of my arms, pulling me up and gives me the biggest hug, tight against him.

* * *

I gaze up at him, his eyes glowing that strange color, his messed up curls, the grin a mile wide and know I've made the right decision.

* * *

          "Kiss me, you wonder of my life."

Our first kiss starts tender and tentative, then moves to intense very quickly.

          "Oh Sherlock, the years we missed!"

          "Oh, John, the years we still have!"


End file.
